


Monster

by biblionerd07



Series: Brothers Our Whole Lives [1]
Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, baby Bass, baby Miles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-10 05:26:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1155634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biblionerd07/pseuds/biblionerd07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes it feels like a monster takes over Bass, a hot coiling snake in his belly rising up to fill his whole body and make him hurt people.  But Miles won't let him turn into a monster.  Miles will keep him safe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monster

**Author's Note:**

> Bass having anger problems from a young age is a headcanon for me, because doesn't he seem the type? Also baby Miloe was so fun for me to write and now I have to start a new series. Damn you, plot bunnies.

Bass kicked at the grass at the edge of the baseball field. The other guys didn’t want him to play today. He knew it wasn’t because he wasn’t good—he was better than any of them. It was the way he got mad.

Bass didn’t know why he got so mad. It didn’t happen every time they played baseball, but that seemed to be worse. Joey Mason got mad and threw the bat every single day, and they still let him play. But Bass only got mad sometimes, and when he did there was nothing he could do to stop himself. He didn’t just throw the bat; sometimes he hit people with it. He threw the ball at other boys’ heads, he screamed every curse word he knew, he threw whoever was in front of him to the ground and beat him. He’d heard one of the boys use the word _monster_ and that was what it felt like—a monster took over him, a hot coiling snake in his belly rising up to fill his whole body and make him hurt people.

He’d tried to tell his mom about it once, when she’d exasperatedly told him to _control his temper_. She was tired of getting calls from the school about his fighting. “Mom,” he’d tried explaining. “I _can’t_ control it.”

“You just don’t _want_ to.” She’d said, shaking her head, annoyed.

That wasn’t it. Of course he wanted to control it. He wanted the guys to let him play baseball with them and not be afraid of him. It was only on the playground that he couldn’t control it. His four-year-old sister drove him up the wall, but he’d never twisted her arm behind her back until she cried like he had to Sam Wilson last week. He liked Sam Wilson. He didn’t want to hurt him. But it was like he couldn’t even see that it was Sam in front of him—just someone to hurt, and it didn’t matter who.

Miles had tried to convince the other guys to let Bass play, but they’d outvoted him. Bass had walked away, refusing to beg and not wanting to hear Miles stop begging. Miles was his best friend, but this was baseball, and they’d offered to let Miles play shortstop instead of second base. He heard the crack of the bat and his mouth twisted sadly. It was two innings before he heard the footsteps.

“Hey, Bass.” It was Miles. It was always Miles who came after him, Miles who pulled him off whoever he was hurting, Miles who smoothed things over with the other guys after Bass had punched most of them.

“How come you’re not playing anymore?” Bass asked. Miles was almost as good as he was. He always got picked first, even when Bass wasn’t captain. Bass only got picked first when Miles was captain, because everyone else’s fear of him outweighed how good he was. It was a silent rule that Bass and Miles had to be on the same team, not just because they were inseparable but because Miles could usually keep Bass sort of in check, but the captain who got Miles would always prolong picking Bass to showcase annoyance with the arrangement.

Miles shrugged. “I don’t feel like playing baseball today.” It was a lie and they both knew it. There was no such thing as a day either of them didn’t feel like playing baseball.

“Miles, you can play without me.” Bass said, pretending he didn’t care. He’d already started the game anyway; no real reason not to finish. Miles shrugged again.

“Why would I want to play without you?” He asked. Miles was the best at making Bass feel better, and he always did it like it was no big deal, like he was just telling someone the sky was blue or water was made up of two hydrogens and an oxygen. (Bass was going through a chemistry phase. He was considering being a mad scientist for Halloween but Miles was resisting, even though Miles’s hair was _perfect_ for a mad scientist.)

“The other guys aren’t even as good as you.” Miles continued, and now Bass was smiling. He liked being complimented, even when he already knew it.

“I know.” He said, making Miles laugh. Bass looked down at his shoes. “I know they don’t like me ‘cause I get so mad. I just can’t help it.”

Miles sighed. “I know, Bass, but can’t you try?” Bass gave his friend a look and Miles made a face at him. “Sorry, sorry, I know you try.”

“It’s just…” Bass broke off. Miles didn’t believe in monsters. Well, he _said_ he didn’t believe in monsters, but Bass remembered when they were in kindergarten and Miles thought monsters lived under his bed.

“What?” Miles pressed. Bass pursed his lips. “Come on, tell me.” Miles insisted.

“It’s stupid.” Bass argued.

“Are we brothers or not?” Miles pulled the trump card. They had made a pact (they had made a lot of pacts) that either of them could use “Are we brothers or not?” to get his way, no argument. It had to be really serious, and it had to be used sparingly, and if you used it, you had to wait until the other used his before you could use it again. Miles had been holding that one for a long time, and Bass thought it was a little _anticlimactic_ (one of his vocab words in English) for Miles to use it now.

“Really?” Bass asked incredulously. “For this?”

“Come on, ‘fess up.” Miles ordered. Bass sighed.

“You can’t laugh.”

“Pinky swear I won’t.” They crooked pinkies and shook on it. Bass watched a ladybug crawl over a rock, wondering if his revelation would make Miles stop being his friend.

“When I get mad I just…I can’t even think. Like I can’t do anything to stop myself. It’s like it’s not me, it’s someone else. A monster.”

“A monster?”

“Or maybe…maybe _I’m_ the monster.” That was Bass’s real fear—that the angry monster really was him, his true self, like that boy had said.

“You’re not a monster!” Miles said quickly.

“Andrew Lewis thinks I am.” Bass sounded more dejected than he felt, and that made him feel even worse. Miles frowned.

“Who cares what Andrew Lewis thinks?”

“It scares me when I hurt people, Miles.” Bass admitted this without taking one look at his friend, because you could never look your best friend in the eyes when you admitted you were scared. It was part of the Man Code. Ben had told them. Miles didn’t say anything for a minute, so Bass chanced a peek at him, wondering if that still counted as part of his confession and if he was breaking the Man Code. It wasn’t a huge deal if he broke it, because Ben also said it was a violation if you had sleepovers in the same bed after you were eight and Miles and Bass had surpassed that milestone four years ago, both agreeing that was a stupid rule.

Miles looked a little grumpy, which was pretty typical, but it made Bass worried. What if Miles didn’t want to be around a guy who wasn’t just crazy, he was a scaredy-cat too? “I know it scares everyone else, too.” Bass added. At least he could save face a little if Miles decided to ditch him. Crazy people were still okay if they knew they were crazy.

“Well, it doesn’t scare me.” Miles declared. “And you don’t have to be scared. I’ll make sure you don’t hurt anyone.”

Bass looked at Miles, eyes wide. “How are you going to do that?”

“You can just punch me when you’re mad.”

“No way! I’m not going to punch you.” Bass thought for a second. “I mean, unless you deserve it.” It wasn’t like they’d never gotten into fistfights.

“Well, then you won’t hurt anyone.”

Bass tilted his head, searching his friend’s face to make sure he was serious. He didn’t see anything to tell him Miles would go back on his promise. But what if Miles couldn’t keep his promise? Miles saw that he was unsure, because Miles always did.

“I’ll just hold you down until the monster goes away.” He explained.

“Um, I always get away from you when we wrestle.” Bass pointed out.

“That’s because I let you.” Miles said. Bass rolled his eyes. He wasn’t _positive_ it was a lie, but he was pretty sure. 90% sure. Maybe 85%. Miles grabbed both his hands and pressed their foreheads together—their pact-making stance.

“I’m going to make sure you don’t hurt people.” He vowed. After a heartbeat, he added an amendment: “Unless they deserve it. You have to be able to defend yourself.”

“And you.” Most of the non-monster related fights Bass got in were really Miles’s fights that Bass joined. But Bass had to add a vow to the pact. That was how their pacts worked; it was never one-sided. “I’m going to work on not hurting people and not hurting you when you stop me from hurting people, unless you or other people deserve it.”

“Why do you keep saying I deserve for you to hit me?” Miles was laughing even as he said it. Miles and Bass got into more fights with each other than anyone else. They both knew they could drive each other crazy sometimes, but they never stayed mad very long.

They ended their giggles and resumed their solemn faces, sealing the pact by blowing into one another’s faces. Bass wasn’t sure why that was how they sealed their pacts, because he thought it was kind of weird, and it was really gross when they made pacts first thing in the morning before they brushed their teeth or when one of them was sick, but that was how they’d always done it and he thought it had been Miles’s idea and he’d go along with anything Miles suggested.

“Hey, Miles, are you gonna come back and play or what?” Jimmy Daniels hollered over. Bass shot Miles a betrayed look. Miles had acted like he’d abandoned the game but really he’d just taken an inning out. Miles grinned ruefully.

“Only if Bass gets to play.” He called back. Bass instantly forgave him for lying.

“We don’t want _Sebastian_.” Jimmy’s words were awful, cutting into Bass. Not being wanted was the worst feeling, and the way Jimmy said his name multiplied the hurt, spitting it like a swear word. He hunched his shoulders and kicked a rock like he didn’t care.

“Then you don’t get me.” Miles said it easily, shrugging a little, and turned away from the baseball game. Bass didn’t know if he’d ever smiled so wide in his whole life, like Miles had just turned down the world for _him_. And, in the realm of twelve-year-old boys, he pretty much had. Miles didn’t look for a minute like he regretted it, just smiling back at Bass’s smile, shouting, “Race ya!” as he cheated and took off before Bass even agreed.

“Cheater!” Bass screeched, catching Miles easily even though Miles had longer legs. Miles never ran too far away from him. Bass couldn’t wipe the smile off his face for the rest of the day. Miles wouldn’t let him turn into a monster. Miles would keep him safe.

**Author's Note:**

> This legitimately hurt me to write, because somewhere along the line Miles broke his promise and let Bass become a monster and then turned on him for it and I just...you know, the feels.


End file.
